


The Bells of Winter

by Speary



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1940s, Angst, Castiel and Bees, Dean!Winemaker, DestielFicletChallenge, M/M, Mental Institutions, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Wine, Winter, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-04 09:50:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3063362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Speary/pseuds/Speary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is 1948, and Dean has returned from the war with memories that haunt him. He tends to his father’s lands though and does his best to live quietly. Cas Novak, a childhood friend and neighbor, has spent the last 15 years locked away in the Napa State Hospital. His return to his family home unleashes memories of the past for Dean and sends them both toward feelings that they do not understand, feelings that have consequences that they both understand all to well.</p><p>This was written for the Destiel Ficlet Challenge. My prompts were bells and ice. I have incorporated them thematically. The length was limited to 10k and I used every blessed bit of it. I have split it into four chapters for readability. Enjoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Homecoming

"Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky, The flying cloud, the frosty light: The year is dying in the night; Ring out, wild bells, and let him die. Ring out the old, ring in the new, Ring, happy bells, across the snow: The year is going, let him go; Ring out the false, ring in the true." Tennyson 1850

* * *

There was peace in the vineyard in early autumn. The leaves still carried in them the vibrance of green that reminded one of life. The fiery hues of October though provided comfort too, and that was just around the corner. There was worry though about this winter. There were not many vineyards in the United States at this time. Wines came from Burgundy or, at the very least, a respectable European enclave, maybe from somewhere in Austria. Dean had been proud of his father's choices, choices that lead to him having an escape at the end of the war. His entire world was made up on the foundation that John had provided for him.

Prior to the first great war, John had not seen the need to look to foreigners for wine and had begun planting in earnest. He was a young man then, full of ideals and dreams of success. As his efforts started generating success, John decided to begin a family. He had married a woman that was considered by many to be a bit wild. She gave him four years of herself and two children before she left. John had spent time looking for her, but eventually he came home to his boys and gave up the search. Raising them alone could not have been easy for him, but he threw himself into the task. He imparted to them a love for the land, the necessity for something solid to call home, "For a man ain't nothing, if he hasn't got some land." He had said this often enough that it had become one of his  _great truths._  Dean accepted it whole-heartedly. The land and home were the things that drew him back from his war, back from the all-consuming and ever present thoughts of it when they stormed his dreams.

Before the second war had pulled Dean from his home, though, John had other things to contend with. There were those that felt that wine had to travel a great distance to be truly great. There were those that could not understand why he would put all of this effort into something that was a mere luxury and not a necessity. His wines, though, once consumed were well-liked, and slowly they became quite popular in niche circles of the local elite. When Prohibition reared its ugly head, John had claimed that his wine would be produced solely for the church. They would after all still need to have the Sacrament. If, somehow, some of the bottles found their way into less obvious houses of worship, say a small jazz playing room on Clifford St., he could not be held accountable for that. He provided only to the churches after all.

This had been Dean's father. Even with years to adjust to his death, Dean still found himself starting conversations with him as he strolled through the rows of grapes. He sometimes, would even finish the conversations too, if no one was there to hear. It kept him alive a little. He was also the only one that Dean could talk with about the things that still haunted him. He did not talk with him about them when he was alive, but somehow, in death, John was the only one that could provide the comfort that Dean sought from the nightmares of the second great war.

In all of his years of work on his father's land, they had never had an ounce of trouble from any outsiders. They did what was necessary and kept mostly to themselves. They had not been recluses, mind you, but they had not gone out of their ways to encourage social interactions on their land. Socializing seemed more reasonable outside of the home. Perhaps it was because home was work. Dean did not think much of the issue as it was not an issue for him.

The land adjacent to Dean's was owned by the Novaks. Their patriarch was a man named Zachariah. He was a cantankerous man, that seemed to only show kindness to his trees and his bees. Zachariah's land had been vast at one point. He had sold off acreage here and their over the years as it became clear that he would not be able to manage it all himself. When he had chosen to send his only son to the Napa State Hospital, that only added to his struggles. When Zachariah had died, there had been some concern in the community about who would manage the land. So it was somewhat surprising to Dean when one morning he saw a slender man walking through the orchards. He wore a loose fitting white button up over tan trousers. He did not have a coat, and although it was still early autumn, it was cold enough to make extra layers necessary.

Dean stood at the edge of his vineyard, on a small rise of land, watching the man walk through the orchard. He considered calling out a hello, but since he didn't do it right away, time passed into what could be called awkwardness. The man strode with purpose to the rows of white wooden boxes. They contained bees, or at least they use to. Dean remembered his dad's explanations from when he was younger. He had said that their neighbors were obsessed with them, but that he couldn't complain as they made some of the best honey he had ever had.

The man looked familiar, but it was hard to tell at this distance. He had a mass of dark brown hair that seemed to be wildly out of control. Dean watched him pry up the edge of the box. He was staring down into it, fingers running along the edges with reverence. Dean decided that staring was now bordering on the unacceptable, and so he decided to wander over and say hello. He could have slipped away unseen, but he was too curious.

"Hello." Dean must have startled him a little because he nearly lost his grip on the lid to the bee box. "Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to startle you." Dean stepped over closer, intending to help with the lid.

"Oh, no problem. I didn't know that anyone else was out here." He stared at Dean a second and tipped his head to the side in contemplation. "Dean?"

"Yes, do I know you." Dean looked steadily at the man and wondered if they had met before. He felt the thin stirrings of worry over it, because he couldn't place him.

"You don't remember me?" He kicked at the pebbles on the ground at his feet and seemed to be reluctant to make eye contact again. "I guess it has been a long time."

Suddenly, Dean remembered. "Cas?" The man looked up with a widening smile. "God damn, you are all grown up." Dean laughed and stepped closer, pulling the man into a hug.

Cas laughed into the hug. "Can't believe you didn't recognize me."

"Well, it has been, what, fifteen years?" Dean released him and took a small step back.

"A bit more, but yes it has been a long time. The years have been good to you." Cas' eyes moved up Dean's frame then he looked out toward the vineyards beyond him.

Dean chose to focus on the land. "Yes, my dad set me up nicely. When he passed, I didn't have to do much with the place. I just let it keep doing its thing. We have a good crew of workers, and the product is still appealing to people." He looked back at Cas then and wanted to ask about his last fifteen years, but he couldn't. He knew about some of it. He knew about a lot of it, and asking would be unpleasant for both of them. Instead he asked about something more immediate. "So, are you taking over your father's land now that he has passed." He paused a moment and added, "I'm sorry about your loss, by the way."

"I'm sorry about yours. Your father was a good man, even if our fathers did not quite see eye to eye. I always admired John." He moved his hands down to his sides and angled them into his pockets. Dean took in the whole look of him. He was very pale, quite possibly because the hospital had not given him much time outdoors. Cas interrupted his thoughts, "I am going to try to keep the place running. I had to do a fair amount of convincing to get my freedom."

Dean felt the awkward stirring in his gut. He had a great many questions, but he was less than willing to press them out onto Cas. He didn't know how to proceed in their conversation. It had been easier when they had been kids. He ran his hand up into his hair and held his neck a little in a nervous gesture that was a habit of his. "So you will be living here again?"

"Yes, you will have a neighbor again. I suppose that you were just getting use to the solitude." It was almost a question.

"I've always been a little solitary. Just me and the grapes, well, and dad." Dean thought about the things that lived in his head, the too real images of battle, of distant men unknowingly taking their last breaths before he pulled the trigger on his sniper rifle. Even in solitude, he was never truly alone. He pulled himself out of his reminiscence and added, "I have done my best to keep mostly to myself. I find that sometimes social interactions do not go so well." He did not know why he was sharing. He just didn't want Cas to think that he was unwilling to acknowledge his responsibility for the past.

Cas did not respond right away. He shuffled his feet and then turned back to the bee box. He pushed the lid down more firmly then strode over to the next one. Dean followed him at a respectable distance. "It wasn't your fault, you know." This last was almost a question too.

"Hmm." Dean couldn't say more. He knew what his role had been. He knew what had happened and why. There was nothing that Cas could say to erase that.

Cas was prying up the edge of the box. Dean stepped closer, curiosity getting the better of him. "So, you never married." Again it seemed like a question, but it was said as though Cas knew the answer already.

"No. Marriage just never seemed to be in the cards for me." Dean reached out and helped to lift the lid of the box, moving it off to the side with Cas in a fluid motion. He peered inside and saw the nearly motionless collection of bees in the rows of honeycomb.

"Hmm. Didn't your father pressure you to find a wife to carry on the family name?" Dean knew that more was being said here. He knew that Cas wondered beyond what he could put into words.

He did not answer the unspoken questions though, at least not directly. "No. He let Sam take on the monumental task of marriage and family for the both of us. I think that he knew that I was a lost cause."

"So, Sam is around?"

"No, he is working in San Francisco. He is a lawyer. He comes to visit from time to time. He says that it is good to get out into the country for a spell every now and then." He stared more at the bees than at Cas. He wondered when they would start perking up. "My father always said that you Novaks made the best honey."

"Can't take credit for what the bees do. We just collected the fruits of their labors. I'm glad that they are still alive. I feared that with dad's death that they would be lost. There had been some rather cold nights lately."

"They seem to be a little still." Dean leaned in closer. "Does the honey still taste like lavender?"

Cas smiled, Dean remembered the smile. He had done his level best to push aside certain memories over the years. He had even let himself forget what Cas had looked like. He had, however, not completely forgotten the smile. It was the type of smile that was genuine and inviting. It made you want to lean in closer, share ideas, conspire, and dream out loud. Dean pushed that aside though as something more immediate was drawing his attention. Cas had taken his hand. His heart thudded about in a spastic rhythm of concern and excitement. "Here."

"What are you doing?" Dean's voice was more of a stuttered murmur than it had been a moment before. Cas answered with actions. He moved Dean's hand up into the edge of the box. He extended Dean's finger and pressed it into the edge of the comb. It was waxy and a little viscous.

Cas pulled Dean's finger back out of the comb and held it up in front of him. Dean could see the honey on the end, a long glob of sticky sweetness slowly moving down his finger. Cas was still holding his hand in front of his face. "Well, taste it. You tell me if it still tastes like lavender." Cas pushed his hand forward a little.

Dean opened his mouth and let his finger slip in.  _Lavender_. He sucked away the sweetness and did not remove his finger for a moment. There was something about doing that that Dean knew would end the rest of the intimacy. When the honey was gone, he would lose Cas' hand on his. He did not let himself think about why this was a concern. It just was, and he let it be. He moved his finger back out of his mouth, and Cas released his hand. "Still tastes like lavender."

Cas turned to the box and pressed his own finger into the comb, where Dean's finger had been a moment before. He scooped out a little honey and tasted it himself. "It is more than lavender though."

"Yes."

"It also has flavors from the pear trees and your vineyard. The boxes that are closer to the eastern side of the orchard have a stronger flavor of lavender. They are farther away from the vineyard there and closer to the lavender plants."

"Oh, I'm sorry that the vineyard is tainting the honey." Dean felt a little guilty.

"No, I didn't mean to imply." Cas reached down then and picked up the lid to replace it. "I prefer the honey from these bees. The mix of the flavors is appealing." He pressed the lid back into place. Dean pushed on the opposite side. "Didn't you like the flavor?"

"Yes. I just misunderstood you is all." He could hear the distant sound of his workers making their way through the rows. They would begin the harvest tomorrow. He was glad of it. The threat of frost was looming over them all. The ice would destroy the crops, and he did not want to imagine how he would deal with that much loss. The grapes needed more time to ripen, but there could be no more waiting where the weather was concerned. "I should be going." Dean took a tentative step back.

"Yes, I imagine you have a very full day ahead of you. I saw your workers rolling in this morning. Harvest?" Cas leaned against the box, the light catching his blue eyes in a way that was charming. One would not guess that he had been committed for so long.

Dean dove back into the conversation. It was entirely to easy too let his mind slip from safe paths. "They are setting up today. The harvest will begin tomorrow. So much for your quiet life, I guess."

Cas looked down at his feet then back up, catching Dean's eyes. "I think that I have had enough of the quiet life."

Dean caught the reference that Cas was making to his time away. He chose to navigate around it though. "Well, if you happen to be up for company, stop by any time." Dean began walking back to his land. "See you around, Cas."

"It was good seeing you again." Cas gave Dean a little wave and turned back to his bees.


	2. Harvest

The bells of the First Presbyterian could be heard all the way out at the most distant part of the vineyard. Dean had not realized how late it had become. The harvest had begun two days prior, but there were still many rows left to go. He had thought about skipping church. It was a chore that he only attended to because his father had before. In a way, it made him feel close to the man even now. He marched back to the house, intending to change and take the truck into town.

He caught sight of Cas across the way getting into his own car. He waved a small courteous wave and then backed out of his yard.  _Wonder if he is going to church too._ Dean picked up the pace a little, and when he reached the house, he realized that there was not enough time to really change. He threw on his nicer overcoat and rushed out to the car. At least he had the foresight to wear the suspenders and the crisp white shirt this morning. He thought that it kept his clothes from looking too much like they were for work.

He had spent the better part of the past couple of days dealing with distractions. His thoughts were a jumble of the past and the present all mixed into a type of confusion. Seeing Cas again had set him on a path of memories. It was a path that he thought was firmly behind him. He had seen it buried under years away from this place. He had seen it buried even under years back at home. No one talked about the boy from next door. No one brought him up except in hushed conversations that he was never privy to. He was referred to as "That Novak Boy" and then the conversation would dip and the people in the room would finish up their talk in a way that could only be heard by those closest to the speaker. Dean never felt the need to draw in close to the speaker. He did not want to know what they thought.

When the war had been declared, Dean enlisted. He had been proud to do so. At that time, he had needed an escape. His father had been proud of his choice. He had even said as much out loud. It was not often that his father vocalized his pleasure. Dean had felt warm in that moment. He had thought that with that approval, he could do anything.

He had not realized how distance would not erase the past. Instead he had just moved into a new type of darkness. There was a darkness to the war that was not conveyed in the film reels or the newspapers. The war was not a pageant of colorful uniforms marching under flags that billowed out to the tune of bells ringing forth with the pronouncement of glorious victories. No, instead it was laying in filth for countless hours, waiting for the target to come into range. It had also been freezing in the marshes outside of some no-name village waiting for the blasts of machine gun fire. It had been moments seared into memories that had darkened his thoughts with crimson mixed with earth, and it was all Dean could do to push it aside and function. It was the memories of war now mixed with the guilt of his past that made him feel utterly distracted. Seeing Cas had mixed these thoughts together, and he was certain that there would be no solution for this.

The bells of the First Presbyterian rang out again, and he was pulled from his reveries. He saw a spot to park his car not far from the building. There were still a couple of people lingering outside.  _Good, not too late yet._  He killed the engine at the curb and rushed across the street. He swept his hat off of his head as he entered and took a seat in the back row. He let his eyes move out over the backs of the heads in the pews ahead of him, secretly looking for Cas.

Dean did not see him. It wasn't until the pastor took the podium and Dean had reached for the hymnal that he had understood why. Cas was sitting in his pew. He was on the other end. He caught his eye and then looked back at the book that he had pulled into his hands. They sang the usual assortment of Sunday songs. He honestly did not need the hymnal, but it was a comfort. What if they decided all of a sudden to sing something new? He liked being prepared. The sermon could have been about anything. Dean did not hear a word of it. He looked attentive though, and when the service was done, he stood and made his way out into the world again. He shook the hands of both the pastor and his wife. He did not linger like others did.

He glanced up at the sky as he quickly crossed the street. His face was a mask of concern. "You okay?" Cas had come up to him.

"Oh, yeah. Hello to you too." Dean turned to Cas.

"Sorry. Hello. I just wanted to catch you before you left, but you looked upset." Cas had his hands in his pockets. His clothing looked nicer than Dean's. He had on a white button up with a large collar. His thin blue tie was tucked into place, just so. He had on a hat that Dean secretly wished wasn't there. He thought that Cas wild hair was part of a look that should not be covered. He had on a long brown overcoat that was only partially buttoned. He interrupted Dean's silent assessment with a question. "Are you going to get lunch before heading back to the vineyard?"

"I would normally stop off for food, but not today. It feels like we lost ten degrees while we were in there. It's likely why you thought that I looked upset. I still have a ton of grapes still out on the vines. If the temperature keeps plummeting like this, I will lose them."

"Looks like you will have a lot on your plate this afternoon then." Cas looked a little disappointed. Dean wanted to chuck his plans, but that would be unreasonable.

"Sorry. Another time though?" He hoped that this would be enough to keep Cas from feeling discouraged.  _What am I encouraging?_  It wasn't the first time that he had wondered this. He did not choose though to pursue the answer. He got into his car and Cas stepped aside. As he drove away, he glanced into his rearview mirror at Cas. He looked small as Dean drove away.

* * *

The temperature dropped even more as the afternoon turned to evening. Dean and his crew began working through the rows in earnest. The long rows of bins were filling up. If they kept going at this pace, he would see his grapes harvested. He had not noticed that Cas had joined them until well into the evening. Some of the workers had lit the heating vessels at the ends of the rows to keep the cold at bay. He noticed Cas near one of them clipping the grapes from the vine nearest him. He tossed them back into the bin behind him and then went back for more. Dean stopped what he was doing and walked over to him.

"What are you doing here?" Dean began clipping the grapes from the vine near where Cas was.

"Hello, Dean."

Dean seemed to sense his rudeness then. "Oh, sorry. Hello, Cas."

"I thought that you might need a hand." Cas smiled a little and it was warming in the evening chill.

"How long have you been working? I have to admit that I wasn't paying much attention." They kept working while they talked.

"I've been here for about an hour. I brought you a sandwich, but I didn't want to bother you." Cas reached into the pocket of his overcoat and pulled out a carefully wrapped sandwich. The wax paper was perfectly creased at the edges and the folds of the paper came to perfect points along the top. Dean took the offering. Cas continued, "I thought that you might not have time to eat given the pressures of the harvest."

"You thought right." Dean quickly unwrapped the sandwich and started shoveling it into his mouth. He realized that he was actually starving a little. He hadn't eaten since breakfast. He also realized while he was devouring the sandwich, that he was likely being rude. The food looked like effort, and he did not pause to appreciate it. "Either I am starving or this was the best damn sandwich ever," Dean said as he polished off the last of it.

"You were likely starving. When was the last time that you ate?"

"Breakfast, but I think that this still might have been the best sandwich ever. Thanks." Dean went back to clipping out the grapes, but he noticed the way that Cas seemed to dip his head a little with the praise.

The crew moved from row to row. Cas stayed the whole time. They continued to work side by side as the evening progressed. Dean tried to give him an out. "You know, that you don't have to stay. I have plenty of people working the harvest."

Cas just responded simply, "I know." Then he continued working. They did not talk much at first, but it was a comfortable silence. Dean was very aware of Cas' presence at his side. It was growing colder. Ice was starting to form on the vines where the evening condensation had settled.

Dean hollered over to Bobby, his father's oldest employee. "Bobby, you should start hauling in the bins. Ice is forming."

"Got it. I already got the tractor hooked up." Bobby set aside the clippers and tossed his handful of grapes into the nearest bin. The bins were all linked together and hooked to a tractor, making them look a little like a caterpillar in the rows. Bobby had already hauled out some of the bins. They were trying to wait on the next haul until the last of the rows had been picked. It seemed less risky now, though, to get the grapes that were already picked out of the cold as soon as possible. New empty bins were brought over, and Bobby drove off with the other bins.

Many of the men had followed Bobby to help with the unloading. Several, though, stayed to continue the picking. Cas asked, "So, is Bobby still living on site?"

"Yes. Dad told me that I could do whatever I wanted with the land after he died, but that I was never allowed to turn Bobby out."

"That is kind."

"Nah, Bobby is a hellava good worker. He's been more like family than an employee, so I never would have considered turning him out even without the pronouncement from dad." They rounded the end of the row and began working their way along the next. Dean felt the cold biting into him. It was a painful reminder of his past. He shivered and said, "Tried to tell dad that I was going to go live in Nevada when I got back. I hated the cold that much. He wasn't having any of that though. Told me that we got ten days of warmth to every one of cold. He was convincing. Guess I must have wanted to come home deep down."

"Deserts are cold too, sometimes." Cas looked over at him and continued, "I had heard about your enlistment."

"Yeah, couldn't see sitting here, doing nothing." Dean seemed to sink in on himself a little. "They were monsters, the whole lot of them."

"I'm sorry, Dean." They worked on in silence for a few moments more. "They let me have newspapers after a time, and my dad would visit and tell me things. He didn't talk about your family, avoided all of you pretty thoroughly."

"Hmm." Dean acknowledged without words, afraid that he would end the sharing.

"Life there was a pattern of existence. Everything had a time and place. I could have gotten out sooner, I think, if I wouldn't have fought them so much."

"How did you fight them?"

"With silence mostly."

"Mostly?"

"Yes. I don't wish to talk about the rest." He turned and tossed some grapes into the bin. "My father was going to sign me out before he died, thought I was cured." The things that he didn't say, were clear even without words. Dean felt responsible for much of what Cas had suffered. He didn't have words to fix it though, just anger, frustration.

"Did he just not get to it?" Dean felt a rising irritation spilling over at the thought that a person could so toss aside their own flesh and blood.

"No. I got a newspaper. They wrote an article about you. You had been captured. I had tried to be subtle. I asked my father about prisoner of war camps. I needed to understand the situation. He was the only one that visited, the only one to ask. He saw through me though. He told me nothing. Worse still, he told them not to let me have the newspapers anymore."

"I'm sorry, Cas. So sorry." His hands fell to his sides. Even when he wasn't there he had caused so much harm. He had thought this before, but he felt it fully now.

He felt Cas' hand pressed up on his back then. "You don't need to be sorry. I should have fixed things. I should have learned to lie better. I was stubborn though."

"You never were good at lying." Dean dipped his head a little, but he also turned to him.

"I could have been. You want something badly enough, you lie." He turned back to the vines. His movements were slow. The cold seemed to be getting to him now too.

"You didn't want to leave?" Dean felt confused.  _Why would he want to stay there?_

"I wanted to leave, but I did not want them to win. They began administering electroshock to cure my dysfunction. Father approved. I fought them. I should have lied then. I wanted to get out then. I wanted to enlist. Time passed. Somedays I did not fight. Somedays I did not remember why I was there, or why I should want to leave." Cas' words petered out. He moved along the row. Dean moved too.

Dean considered how he might pull the conversation away from the painful path of memories that Cas was experiencing. "When I came back, I was surprised that you were not here. I asked my dad why you hadn't been released yet. He told me that Zachariah was a cruel man. He did not explain more to me. If I would have known, understood, I would have done something."

"What could you have done?"

"I could have done much. The things that I have seen, done. I could have done much, Cas."

"You have no responsibility in this. I was not careful. I was foolish. I was unnatural, and I dragged you into my mess." He seemed to be ready to take on the weight of it all.

"I was there, Cas. You can't lie to me. You did nothing wrong. You forget that I spent a fair amount of time dealing with people that were truly unnatural, monsters. You are not one of those." He set down his clippers and tossed his handful of grapes into the bin. They had cleared the last row. He turned to his crew on the far end and hollered out, "Good work, men. Let's get this hauled in and we can call it a night." The men cheered and the bins were hauled in. Dean smiled out into the night. Everyone left to finish the job. Dean lingered with Cas. Eventually, he faced him. "Suppose you can call it a night now. Thanks for…"

Cas interrupted his words, "I meant what I said then."

"I don't understand." Dean lied.

"Yes, you do." Cas turned and walked off to his own land through the dark, and Dean stood still, and watched him go.


	3. Holding

His mind was muddled in dreams. There were rows and rows of his grape vines stretching out into the vast reaches of the valley. They were covered in the frost of winter. The snowcapped mountain ranges framing the scene. It did not usually snow here. It did not usually get so cold. He felt the chill of it though. It ran deep into him. It was a reminder of the cold of the pit. It was a cold that would not leave him. It was a cold that he had carried home. It was frigid memory that woke him each morning. When he came to the end of one of the seemingly endless rows, he found a vast crevice in the ground at his feet. It was like a wound that had been slashed deep into the earth. He peered over the edge and saw the bodies. So many stacked one on the other in no order. Limbs splayed out in wild abandon. Their faces were portraits of terror, painted in reds and browns. Eyes, unseeing stared up at him.

Then in unison, their mouths moved and a voice swarmed up around him. "You did not save us." The voice sounded a little like Cas. Dean shuddered with the implication.

"I couldn't save you all. We were doomed from the start." He did not know who he was trying to convince.

"You saved no one but yourself." The voice was more accusatory now. It sounded a lot more like Dean's voice if he had spoken in a vast empty hall.

"I have not been saved. I live, yes, but I am not alive. I would trade with you if I could." He sunk to his knees and immediately felt the cold seep into his pants. The bodies reached up to him. He let them grab him. He did not fight. They pulled at him until his body was in the pit. They pulled him into the mass of flesh and blood. They held him there and he did not fight.

He woke up eventually in a sweat that seemed to magnify the chill of the morning air in his room. He sat up and let his eyes adjust to the pre-dawn darkness. He should not have woken up yet. He had only slept for a few hours. He pulled on clothes, none-the-less and strode to the living room, then to the kitchen. From the window over the sink, he could see out to the Novak home. It was distant, but it was clear that someone was up. Light was coming from the windows. He considered going over. He wondered if it would be acceptable. He pulled out his kettle and began brewing coffee. He looked through the ice box and found some biscuits that he had been saving. He popped them into a pan and warmed them on the stove.

When the coffee had been brewed and the biscuits warmed, he packaged up the biscuits and poured the coffee into a thermos. He pulled on a jacket and carried his provisions under his arm toward Cas' home. The sun was beginning to rise, but it was still dark. He wondered if he should wait until a more respectable hour. He got to Cas' front porch though, and he saw movement inside.  _He was awake._  He took the steps and rapped on the door.

Cas answered, disheveled. "Dean."

"I thought that I owed you breakfast." He stood there awkwardly. He held out the coffee and the container of biscuits. Cas reached out and took them. He stepped aside then and beckoned Dean in.

"Did you even sleep?" Cas asked as Dean stepped in and let his eyes scan the room.

"I got a few hours. You?"

"A few." He walked to his dining room table and set down the food and coffee. He walked into his kitchen and pulled out some mugs and plates. "Here." He handed them to Dean to take to the table. Cas opened a drawer next and pulled out some utensils for the biscuits as though they were more than finger foods.

Dean noticed and said, "Oh, it's just biscuits. I'm not much of a chef or anything. I'll owe you a few more meals before I make up for the sandwich and such." He smiled at him and hoped that it wasn't uncomfortable for Cas, having him here.

Cas smiled back and joined him at the table. "I don't think that I could eat much anyway. Thank you, Dean."

They ate the biscuits and drank the coffee in silence for a while. It was comfortable. Dean wanted to tell him about the time that he was away. He felt that he owed Cas some of the history that he had missed. He also felt like it was something that Cas wanted. "I want to tell you about the war. I mean, if you want to hear it."

Cas reached over and rested his hand on Dean's arm. "Of, course I want to hear it, if you want to tell me." Dean looked down at Cas' hand on him, and Cas removed it.

"I was a sniper. Guess all of the hunting we use to do paid off."

"You always were a crack shot." Cas smiled with admiration as they each recalled the past.

"Well, it was a skill that served me well. It kept me back from the major action." He stopped. He felt the weight of the memory crushing him, chilling him to his core. "That is, until I was captured. They held me in a camp. There was torture. I won't talk about it. It was bad, but I survived. When the war drew to a close, we were all so weak. We should have run, but we didn't understand the concept anymore. We had all spent too long doing what we were told."

Cas' hand came back to him. He felt it melting the chill from him. It was warmth on this cold morning. His thumb fell to stroking back and forth along the fabric of Dean's shirt. Dean was glad that he had removed his coat. He could feel this moment better because of it. "I'm sorry." It felt sincere, not the way that apologies often felt to Dean. He looked at Cas' face and saw comfort there. It was the same comfort that he had seen years ago when he had been only sixteen. It was the same comfort that had lead to something more, something that should have belonged to only them, but unfortunately it did not.

"We were taken to a field. They marched us through the ice, the snow. They gave us shovels and told us to dig. It seemed to take forever for us to make any difference in the earth. Eventually, though, we had made a sizable pit. When they yelled at us to turn and face them, I knew what would come next. They did not line us up particularly; they just opened fire. I fell back into the pit. A bullet grazed my head." He reached up and ran his fingers along the spot that had been grazed. Cas reached up and touched the spot too.

"I can see the scar a little." His fingers lingered on the spot, brushing back into his hair.

"Yeah, a little reminder of the past for whenever I might start to forget." He leaned into the hand a little. "I don't know how long I laid there covered in their bodies. It felt like years. It was likely just hours. There was snow. It fell on us all. I began to feel warm, and that was when I knew that I was dying. I could not be warm there. Their bodies were long dead on me. Their blood had frozen, turned to ice on their skins." Cas' hand still stroked his head.

"How did you get back?"

"I crawled up to the surface. I pulled myself up over their bodies. I would have died if it hadn't been for the war's end. Of course, it was also the end of the war that made them decide to kill off the evidence of their crimes. Eventually, tanks rolled in from the Brits. I was picked up and taken to the Red Cross Hospital. I recovered there and was sent home." Dean rushed through the end of the tale. It was becoming more than he could handle. He fell into silence then, closed his eyes, and concentrated on the feeling of Cas' fingers still stroking his head.

"I wanted to enlist the moment that I saw the article. I told myself that I would find you. Save you." Cas leaned toward him a little. Dean opened his eyes.

"You did save me." He leaned toward Cas a little.

"I don't see how."

"I prayed, not to God, not to something so abstract. I prayed to you. I figured if I couldn't see you, I could at least talk to you. So, I prayed to you, every night. I dreamed of you too. You were younger. You never aged. You were always there, pulling me out of the darkness, out of the cold." Cas' hand cupped him more. He held him and eased closer.

"I meant every word then." Cas' words were a more fervent repetition of what he had said before.

"It was so long ago. It is different now." Dean whispered just a breath from Cas.

"Is it?" He leaned into the last remaining space between them and brought their lips together. It was gentle and quiet. Dean had forgotten how it had felt. Their first kiss had been so long ago, so mixed with other things. This kiss was different. It was not powered by a rush of teenaged hormones propelling them into each others arms. This kiss was slow. It was soft. Dean moved his hand up to Cas' face too. He held him there in a mirror of what Cas was doing.

The kiss parted slowly, naturally. Dean whispered, "I had missed you. I should have saved you."

"In a way, you did. I thought of you everyday. You were my comfort. You don't need to feel guilty. There was nothing that you could have done. Nothing." Dean disagreed. He leaned his forehead against Cas'. He wanted to kiss him again, but he didn't. The intimacy of their position was enough. The sun had risen now and the room was awash in sunlight streaming in through the windows. Then the bells of the First Presbyterian Church rang out. The loud call of the bells should have served only to remind the community of the passing of Deacon Mills. They would ring each hour today in honor of his passing. This was the first ringing. The sound of it jarred them out of the quiet moment.

In fact, it disrupted the quiet so much that Dean sprang back from Cas. He toppled the chair back over onto its side. Dean felt his breath coming to him in sharp stabs. Cas looked no better. He had curled in on himself a little at the table. The two of them remained like this in their respective corners. Dean seemed to recover first as the bells ceased their ringing. He stooped to the chair and lifted it back into its upright position. He looked at Cas. "Are you okay?" He could see the shaking that had taken over his form.

"The bells. You know how I said that everything had order? A time and place for everything in the hospital…" Dean nodded in acknowledgement. "I would hear the morning bells ring just before they would pull me from my room for therapy." Dean wanted to comfort him. He wanted to move back to his side. The bells had served as a reminder for him though, too. There are some things more important than desire.

"I need to be going, Cas." He edged for the door. He knew that his departure was abrupt. He knew that his words did not even remotely touch on the moments that they had just shared. He could not do anything about that though. He could only leave. Cas nodded and when their eyes locked on one another there was understanding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The technical end of this is the next chapter. I can see expanding this world though. If there is enough interest, I would be willing to add to it. Feel free to let me know after chapter four.


	4. Haven

Dean had watched the seasons shift from the cool of autumn to the the bone chilling winter. He watched it most nights from his home with a fire stoked to a fierce roar. He had done his best to avoid Cas. It was for both of their good, and Cas seemed to be choosing the same path. It was not easy. They were neighbors after all. They also attended the same church. They were civil though. There was acknowledgement in a tip of the hat or a quick wave of the hand. For each of them though, it was essential that they not put each other in harm's way. True there was no one to send Cas back to that place, but it seemed like a risk even without Zachariah in the mix.

So, he lived in dreams. He replayed moments from the distant past and the not so distant past. He remembered their first kiss. He fell into sleep with it on his mind. It had been a cold night. The roof around his home was framed in icicles. For some it would be charming, but for Dean it was anything but. He sought warmth in his memories and let himself linger on Cas.

They had been young then. Dean had been 16, Cas had just turned 18. Their relationship had been constructed on a solid foundation of mutual interests. They had been known to head off into the hills, rifles in hand only to come home later in the evening with a week's worth of meats draped over their shoulders. They had talked of their worlds, the separate expectations of their fathers for them. They had over time come to depend upon each other in that quiet way that happens when you share so many secrets, so many dreams.

They had made plans to take in a film together. They had even convinced John to drive them into town. John had laughed at their enthusiasm. They were going to see Dracula starring Bela Lugosi. John decided that Sam was not yet old enough to see something so frightening. Sam moped about for nearly a week while Dean and Cas talked up the film. Each had heard different rumors about the plot. Each had read different articles or picked up on different gossip. It was all that they could talk about. Zachariah had even listened in on their conversations once and weighed in on the tale.

Then the day arrived. John drove them into town. They marched up to the ticketing window and plunked down their change. The theater was packed. Apparently everyone wanted to see this film. They bought popcorn and plopped themselves into their seats with anticipation practically oozing from their pores. The lights went off and the film began.

Dean had been quite conscious of Cas at his side. He rested his hand on the armrest between them. Cas put his hand and arm on the same armrest, wedged right up against his. They had never done anything that could have been dubbed romantic. They had not held hands, kissed, or anything that would have drawn an eye. Dean had thought about it though. He had thought about it at night when he was supposed to be sleeping. He had thought about it during their hunts together. He had thought about it when Cas would tell his stories. He had wondered if Cas thought like he did. He had pushed that aside though. He knew that it wasn't right, or at least that is what he had told himself.

There were members of the audience that actually screamed when Dracula made his first appearance on the screen. Dean laughed and Cas laughed with him. They leaned closer to each other to better share the popcorn. At one point, Dean noticed that Cas had his little finger over his own. It wasn't exactly hand holding, but it felt like it to Dean. He glanced over to Cas, making eye contact in the near dark. He was glad for the dark so that Cas wouldn't see the warmth that had spread to his face. When the movie was nearing the end, Dean noticed that more of Cas' fingers were on his hand. However, when the final scene came to an end, Cas' hand was safely back in his part of the seat.

Everyone was talking about the film as they funneled out of the theater. Dean and Cas were fairly silent. They spotted Dean's dad across the street and made their way to him. John had asked them about the movie, and they had each shared their thoughts. Their enthusiasm though was tamer than it had been earlier in the week. John had dropped off Cas, and when they got back to their place, Dean went off to bed without hardly a word back to his father. He stayed up though, well into the night, and looked out the window toward the Novak place. He could see light coming from Cas' room. He wondered why he was still up.

It was well past midnight, and Cas' still had his light on. Dean pulled out a lamp and set it in the window. He moved a paper in front of it to make it flash. He did it again just to be sure that it was visible, then he watched Cas' window. The light in his room flashed back. Dean wished that he had studied Morse Code. He threw on a jacket and some shoes. He tip-toed down the stairs and out the front door. He was careful to skip the squeaky loose board on the porch. He made his way down the well-worn path between their houses, hoping that Cas would just figure it out and meet him halfway.

At the time he had not been sure what his intentions were. He had just wanted to see Cas. He got to the house and stared up at the window. The light was still there. He scooped up some small pebbles and tossed them one at a time at the window. By the third one, he could see Cas looking down at him. The light went out and Dean could not see him anymore. He had wondered if that was Cas' way of telling him that he needed to go home. He was about to turn and leave when he heard the front door open. Cas came out slowly, skipping his own squeaky boards. When he had reached the yard, Dean felt Cas take his hand and they ran off through the orchard. Cas started laughing once they got far enough away from the house for it to be safe.

"What are you laughing at?" Dean had asked.

"I don't know." Cas sounded like the definition of joy. They zig-zagged through the trees and Dean laughed too.

"What are you laughing at?" Cas had asked.

"I don't know." But Dean did know. He was giddy with the moment. He knew that Cas was feeling the same things. At the edge of the orchard, the land dipped down to the creek. They crept down the side of the crumbly land and stopped at the water's edge. They had not had a goal, but somehow this place felt like a goal. Cas had reached up to his face then, and Dean had leaned into the touch. He had done more than that. He leaned into Cas. He kissed him. It was at first, quick and done. But that one kiss had granted permission. It had been a moment of some greater import. Dean had felt the hammering of his heart. He wanted to know if Cas' heart was doing the same. He pulled Cas to him. He concentrated on their chests together. Cas became more focused. He practically slammed their lips together for the second kiss. It was messy and chaotic. It was full of wild abandon. Their hands had found skin somehow in the moments that they held each other. He had felt the tight muscles of Cas' back as he pressed his fingers into them.

He wanted to touch more of him. He did not know what would be acceptable. He knew though that none of it was really acceptable. Cas liked it though. He could tell from the moans of pure joy that were echoing about in his mouth. He kept saying Dean's name and each utterance made him want more. He had murmured into Dean's ear that he loved him. Dean had kissed him harder then. In the midst of their kiss, there had been light. A lantern crested the edge of the hillside that they had climbed down. Zachariah was there, peering down at them. He looked shocked. They had parted swiftly. Dean spent some time trying to forget what had happened. Zachariah had spoken with John. John had decided not to speak with Dean about it.

Within days, Cas was gone. It took months to gather a reasonable explanation. He learned about the hospital. He tried to visit, but it had been a failed attempt. Apparently, Zachariah had made sure to include his name on the list of visitors that were not allowed. Years passed, and he never got one word about how he was doing, when he would be back, or even if he would be back. When he eventually did get some information, it had come from a rather unlikely source, Bobby. He had told him that the hospital was one of the best in the nation and that they treated their people well. The information kept him from plotting, but it also kept him from hoping too, for deep down inside, Dean felt guilty, like he had done something terribly wrong. It sent him into darkness. He became cold and distant with most people. He did not want to taint anyone else.

The years had softened some things though. Now when he looked out the window, he could see Cas' light on in the upper floor. He wondered if there could be a way for them. Sometimes it was possible to keep a secret. He wondered if they could have this. He lifted a lantern and placed it by the window. He raised and lowered a paper in front of the light, flashing it across the distance, hoping that Cas would see it. He waited, and did it again. He saw the light in Cas' room go dark. He felt cold. He turned off his own lantern then too.

The night was dark and moonless. The stars sparkled though just beyond his window. He stared out at them from his bed. He could see the shimmer of starlight on the icicles that hung from his eaves. He shook in his bed from the cold, and also from the perceived rejection. In the quiet of the night, though, he heard creaking footsteps on the front porch, and then he heard the front door open and close. He sat up in his bed and waited, his heartbeat quickening. He heard the footsteps approaching his door. Then the door opened. Cas stood there, seemingly winded. He didn't speak. He just stood there, rooted to the spot. Dean did not move either.

"I saw your light." Cas' voice was barely above a whisper.

Dean stood. "I saw yours go out. I thought you might be done with me."

Cas moved swiftly to him. "Never." They were done talking. Dean felt Cas like a force on his body, propelling him back onto the bed. His hands pulling at Dean's shirt. Dean could feel the pull on his lips, the press of Cas' hips, the firm grip of his hands on arms. He wanted to move faster and slower all at once. He wanted to pour love into each movement. He wanted to push away the world outside and just live in this warmth. He wanted to feel more of Cas. He pulled away Cas' shirt when he finally broke from the kiss enough for him to do so.

He came back to him quickly, kissing him along his neck and shoulders. Cas' hands found more clothes to toss aside. Dean followed his lead and did the same for him. They had a moment of stillness then. Each one wondering what came next, as though they only knew that clothing needed to be removed, but nothing beyond that. Cas smiled down at him. He smiled back. Dean reached over to the blankets and pulled them over them, covering them both, shielding them from the cold. Dean knew that warmth mattered. He knew that if nothing else, he had never felt more warmth than he was feeling at this moment in Cas' arms.

Forget the world outside, the ice and chilled existence. Forget the empty years, the futile efforts to just function. Forget the way that it all could just crash down around them. That last thought though, made Dean shudder. Cas seemed to have felt the shift and rubbed affection into his back. Dean was afraid. He was afraid of what he could do, the harm that he could unleash in Cas' life with his own selfish desires. He wanted to live in this moment. He wanted to never stop holding onto this fledgling thing that they were just building.

Cas stared down at him, intensely, seeming to will him into this moment fully. He reached up to him. He ran his fingers back into his hair. He held on. He stretched up to his lips, but did not kiss him. He focused instead on the closeness of their bodies, the warmth of air that ghosted out from Cas' slightly parted lips. He focused on the look in his eyes, and lived in that space. It was a world, his world. They could have this secret. He thought again. He hoped. "I'm afraid that I'll hurt you again." Dean whispered.

"You never hurt me." Cas whispered back and kissed him lightly. "You, never hurt me." He repeated it more fervently than before. So, Dean kissed him back and let himself push aside the world outside at least for now. For now there could be just Cas. For now there could be this.

And so he closed his eyes and pulled Cas to him. His thoughts a constant stream of forget, forget, forget. A bell of memories tolling out into the coldness of his mind. He held on, though, the rhythm of their bodies, for now, keeping the greater nightmares at bay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that is where it officially ended for the Destiel Ficlet Challenge. I think that there will be more though when I have time to get to it. It seems like I have a bit more to explore in this little world. Feel free to leave feedback. It is always appreciated.


End file.
